Stone Number One
by purplehairedwonder
Summary: 7.06 missing scene. Dean was Sam's stone number one and he was building his sanity on that. But what happens when that stone cracks?


**Author's Note:** First things first: spoilers for 7.06! That being said, half of fandom seems to be up in arms at the way Sam handled the big Amy reveal. But it made perfect sense to me, so I just wanted to get into Sam's headspace a bit and explore why he reacted the way he did.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_.

**Stone Number One**

"C'mon," Dean said, turning from his decapitated doppelganger. "Let's grab a mop." But Sam was frozen to the chair, the leviathan's words ringing through his ears.

"_Here's the deal. Dean thinks you're nutballs. He thinks you're off your game…You know, I guess that's why Dean never told you that he killed Amy."_

A small part of Sam said that he should have protested—that the thing was lying and just trying to get under his skin. But, the rest of him argued, where was the point in that? Demons lied, but they told the truth just as often because they knew the truth hurt far worse than a lie. Why would a leviathan be any different? And Dean had been hiding something from him, something big that he'd been trying to drown in alcohol, for weeks.

Dean stopped at the door, turning back with a frown. "Sammy, you OK?"

An image of Dean refusing Osiris' third witness popped unbidden to mind. Sam hadn't understood then—he'd been irritated that Dean refused to give him more time to try to save his ass—but he was pretty damn sure he got it now.

The fake Dean was telling the truth. All the signs were there.

And really, Sam wanted to kick himself for not considering the idea sooner.

"Yeah," he barely managed to get out, "I'm fine."

He knew the lie wasn't convincing, but he couldn't bring himself to look his brother in the eye, not right now. This wasn't supposed to be happening, not with Dean. Not when Dean was the reason he was able to get up each morning and push the fire and ice and pain and Lucifer's echoing laughter from his mind after another restless night of nightmares. Dean was the reason Sam was trying so damn hard to be OK, going on runs every morning to clear his head and focusing on the job. Dean was the reason he was vertical in the first place when angel and demon alike said he'd be a drooling mess; without Dean, Sam was nothing.

Without Dean, Sam might as well still be in Hell.

"That's right, Sammy," Lucifer's voice whispered into his ear, sending a chill down his spine. "You might as well still be with me."

"Let's go," Dean said, leaving the interview room.

Sam shut his eyes and balled his hand into a fist. He concentrated on his fingernails digging into the scar tissue on his palm, on the sharp pinch of skin, on the throb that shot from his palm into his arm, on what was real. Slowly the Devil's voice faded and Sam opened his eyes again. He glanced down at the line of crescent-shaped marks reddening his hand and clenched his jaw.

That had been Dean's trick, too.

"_Hey, I am your flesh and blood brother, OK? I am the only one who can legitimately kick your ass in real time. You got away. We got you out, Sammy. Believe in that. Believe me, OK? You gotta believe me. You gotta make it stone number one and build on it. You understand?"_

It all came back to Dean. Always.

Sam pushed himself to his feet to follow Dean into the lobby, but had to catch himself with a hand on the table. The world felt like it was shifting, quaking underneath his feet. He glanced over at the sheriff, who hadn't seemed to notice the rumbling. It must just be him, then—which Sam was used to at this point. He was nutballs, after all.

Dean was right, though. They needed to clean up this mess and make themselves scarce. Sam took a step toward the door, but the ground continued shaking beneath him. He blinked and looked down at his hands and realized they were trembling, too. OK, maybe this was just him.

_Shit._

The stable footing that he'd been working so damn hard to build on was crumbling from the detonation of the leviathan's choice few words.

Sam shook his head. He didn't have time for this. They had more important things to deal with before he could afford to fall apart. He headed into the lobby, where he found Dean eyeing the mutilated corpse of another cop slumped over a desk.

"Poor son of a bitch," his brother muttered.

"You two should probably get going," the sheriff said. Sam started, not having noticed the older man come up behind him. God, just a few words from a monster and Sam's reflexes were shot to hell.

"Literally," Lucifer chuckled. Sam blinked at the Devil, who sat cross-legged on the desk next to the dead cop. "You have a way with words that I've always appreciated."

Sam swallowed hard and turned back to the real people in the room. He looked at the sheriff, since he couldn't bring himself to look at his brother, not when all he could see was Dean promising to trust him at a time when Sam needed it the most.

"_Look, you don't trust her, fine. Trust me. Dean, please."_

"_OK."  
><em> 

"_Seriously?"_

"_Gotta start sometime, right?"_

"I told you, Sam," Lucifer continued. "I told you he didn't understand you. I told you he didn't care about you. And here's the proof."

Sam balled his hand into a fist again, but Lucifer didn't fade. He grinned at Sam and Sam took a shuddering breath. _Shit. Shit. Shit._

"You've got a pretty big mess here, Sheriff," Dean was saying, obvious to the Devi's insults five feet to his left. "We can help."

The sheriff shook his head. "The Feds are hot on your asses. Besides, my daughter is the coroner. I'll give her a call and the bodies won't be a problem."

"And the black…goo?" Sam forced himself to ask, to bring himself into the conversation to distract himself from Lucifer, who had turned to inspecting the wounds on the corpse's neck with morbid interest.

"A little Borax and it'll be good as new, right?"

Sam blinked at that, but Dean snorted. "Fair enough." He glanced around the precinct before coming to rest on Sam's beheaded doppelganger. Lucifer suddenly stood next to the headless body with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Beheading's always been too quick for my taste," he said. "Even so, this is a familiar sight. Minus the black crap, anyway." He smirked again. "Because sometimes you just needed it to end, right? You can't say I never did anything for you, Sammy."

Sam shoved his thumb into his palm and pressed down as hard as he could. He winced and the Devil flickered but didn't vanish.

"We'll need to hold onto the heads, though," Dean was saying, still looking at the body with a sick look on his face. "Gotta keep them separate from the bodies." He glanced up. "Sam and I'll toss 'em on our way out of town."

"I'll get something to wrap them up in, at least," the sheriff said, heading for the supply closet.

"Thanks," Dean replied with a nod before looking down at the body again.

"Nice try, Sammy," Lucifer said, stepping over the corpse to stand inches away from a clueless Dean. "But that reality crap only works when you mean it."

Sam's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. This wasn't real. This wasn't real and dammit, he _knew_ that.

"Not that I blame you," the fallen angel continued sympathetically. "Dean doesn't trust you because you're a freaking headcase. He ganked the girl who killed her own mother to save _your_ hide after promising not to, and then lied about it to your face." Lucifer shrugged. "I get it. Really. Michael never trusted me either."

"Sam?"

"But really, if _that's_ what your brotherhood boils down to and _that's_ what's keeping you from spilling your marbles all over the floor? What's the point?"

"Sam?"

"You spent two centuries in the Pit with me for _that_?" Lucifer said, voice turning cold. "That's pathetic."

"Sam!"

Sam jerked away from a sudden touch on his shoulder and Lucifer laughed.

"Hey," Dean said, coming into focus right in front of Sam's face as he pulled his hand from Sam's shoulder. His eyes searched Sam's face, though for what Sam had no idea. "Sammy, you good?"

Sam swallowed, eyes tracing the room but Satan was gone again. He turned his gaze down to the floor. "Yeah. I'm good."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but the sheriff walked back into the room with two bags holding the copies' heads. Dean shut his mouth and backed up a step from his brother. The sheriff held them bags out to Dean, who eyed them distastefully.

"You sure about this?" the older man asked.

"No," Dean said, dropping his arms to his sides. "But it's the only option we've got right now."

"Well I just got a call and the Feds are going to be here in a couple hours. I suggest you make yourself scarce."

Dean nodded. "Thanks."

"For what?" the sheriff asked, eyes widening slightly. "As far as I'm concerned, Sam and Dean Winchester got the drop on my men then turned on me so I had to shoot them."

Sam's lip quirked slightly at that. "We'd hate to make a liar out of you."

The sheriff nodded. "See that you don't."

Dean saluted the cop with a severed head and made for the exit. Sam swallowed and followed his brother into the parking lot. Dean looked around and groaned. "Man, we're gonna have to walk all the way back to the motel to get that piece of shit car." He glanced over at Sam, eyes lighting up slightly. "Maybe we could take the fake us' car." The imposter Impala was still parked in the lot and it figured Dean had zeroed in on it.

Sam shook his head. "All our stuff's in the other car, Dean."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. "Stupid leviathans taking away my freaking car!"

"Better get walking," Lucifer said from behind Sam's shoulder. "You never know what might be out there in the dark, after all."

"C'mon," Sam said, stepping off the sidewalk. "Let's get walking."

_- fin -_


End file.
